Disappearance
by Doctor Faustus
Summary: 5 years ago, Fuji Syuusuke vanished from the real world. Later, an embittered Fuji Yuuta seeks out the man who might have been closest to Fuji’s thoughts in an effort to uncover the truth about his disappearance. ::Tezuka/Fuji:: Request: Rabbit Dreaming
1. Water for the Dead Tree

_Why don't they go away? Why don't these memories just disappear?_

Fuji rocked himself slowly back and forth, his knees pulled up to his chest. In spite of his pride, the tears leaked from his shut eyes. He would wait for the final blow that would cripple him but today was not it. Today was not going to be the day he'd cave in to the pain. When he felt like crying, he escaped to a small and isolated park that no one he knew frequented. He breathed in deeply and raised his face to the darkening sky, letting his fingers curl around the wooden bars of the bench, driving them harder against the solid wood, tearing his nails against the sharp splinters.

He wanted to disappear, he wanted to stop existing, he wanted to be erased so completely that the world would never remember that he had once been a part of it.

There was no escaping the pain he had felt when Eiji's words were thrown at him. His mind replayed the moment of realisation when he knew that Eiji had been the one who turned against him. Nothing twisted the knife in deeper than the realisation his best friend had given him away, but Eiji didn't even bother to wreck his vengeance in the same childish ways that Fuji had gotten used to over the years. He supposed it was his arrogance in believing that people didn't change, that they remained the same and felt the same even as time passed. It wasn't Eiji's anger that troubled him, but the fact that Eiji was _indifferent_, untouchable, so far removed from the best friend that he recognised, that it chilled him to the bone and broke his heart in the same moment. Had everything changed without him knowing a thing? How had things become so different that he no longer knew how to cope?

Fuji bit his lip until it bled, in an attempt to stop crying. He couldn't and wouldn't cry. He had always known that he would be alone. He had confessed his love to Tezuka with only a flicker of hope in his chest, but he had always known that nothing would come of it. Nothing comes from nothing after all, wasn't it?

He could still hear Yuuta's shrill, accusing voice in his head.

_"You don't understand anything! How would you know anything of how I feel? You're perfect aren't you? You don't laugh or cry like normal people, you're a freak, a freak like what they call you, I hate you!"_

A muffled gasp of grief bubbled up in his chest and Fuji clamped his hands over his mouth and tried to hold back the tears that wouldn't stop. The more he tried to stop thinking, the more the thoughts flooded his mind and brought back the worst memories. Around him, the wind was rising in speed, lifting the fallen leaves in great gusts and sweeping them past him in a flurry of colours. The rain was starting to fall and he didn't care. At least no one would see him now...

Yuuta was right. He really was a freak. He remembered the way Tezuka's face had changed, the pallor of his face becoming whiter as he cast around desperately for a way to get away from him. He remembered the way Tezuka had apologised and stumbled away, and apologised again. He remembered standing perfectly still and thinking that if he ceased to breathe in that one perfectly silent moment, he would somehow cease to exist. He remembered the pain that had clutched at his heart in that moment, a sudden seizure of agony that had him gritting his teeth as he held on to the nearest table and willed himself not to break down. He remembered the pain on Tezuka's face as he tried to think of a diplomatic way to let him down.

He remembered the _pain_ on Tezuka's face.

Fuji broke down in tears, burying his head in his knees as he rocked himself more violently on the bench, praying for a complete erasure of his life. He had hurt Tezuka unknowingly. He had hurt him with his faked smiles and laughter, and chased him away with a confession he never needed to hear. He had taken their friendship, and destroyed it with his recklessness, and Tezuka was never going to forgive him. He swore he never meant to do it, he didn't know of the disaster that would follow, he didn't know of the rumours and the gossip that would spread like wildfire through their school. He thought about how he had been foolish and incurably selfish to only consider his perspective, and his weakness in being unable to keep his love to himself where it would have been sheltered instead of being torn into shreds by a stony rejection and the mocking laughter that followed him everywhere.

The rain was pelting harder against the ground and Fuji was quickly becoming soaked to the bone. He wanted to die. He had hurt Tezuka, and Yuuta hated him, and Eiji no longer believed in him. He was faced with indifference and rejection, and he had no idea how to handle the turmoil of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him with the passing of every day. He was worthless and insignificant and he often thought of slitting his wrists when the pressure grew too much for him to handle. If only he hadn't been born, the world would have be a better place. Yet, an unnatural death would bring shame upon the family and he didn't wish to hurt anyone.

He wanted to disappear.

When the thought arose in his mind, a high, sharp keening rose in his chest and tore itself from his throat. He was half whimpering with the cold rainwater that drenched him and left his teeth chattering, but his growing incoherence was a worthwhile reward since it left him unable to think but feel. His heart was hurting but the cold was driving away the pounding in his head and there was nothing left for him but the wet feel of salty tears mingled with the rainwater. He rocked himself steadily on the bench and buried his face further in his knees.

Thunder. A flash of lightning.

And the bench lay deserted and empty, as though no one had ever been there.

* * *

END CHAPTER

A/N: The plot doesn't belong to me, but to the totally excellent reader: Rabbit Dreaming, who sent me a fic request but gave me a plot summary, wrote me a preview of the fic, and even gave me links for additional information. This fic is going to be one of the most difficult that I've ever written, and I can only hope that I do her story justice.

EDIT: Do check out Rabbit Dreaming's page, (Username: Musou) since she uploaded the basic premise of this story. Think of it as a preview of sorts aan?


	2. Dreadful sorry, Clementine

Tezuka stood in front of his wardrobe, his fingers gliding over the top of his clothes, brushing the padded jackets, the formal starched suits and stiff linen and the occasional silk pieces that Atobe had practically twisted his arm into buying. It was ironic really, that Fuji's disappearance all those years ago, had practically propelled him into the arms of Atobe Keigo. He wondered what Fuji would say if he saw him now.

After Fuji went missing, he hadn't known what to do with himself. Perhaps it was then, where these hallucinations began. He couldn't quite shake the feeling that Fuji was still around, that the other was still watching him and waiting. Waiting for what, Tezuka wasn't too certain, since he was all too aware of how he had broken the other's heart and left the wound raw and bleeding in the ensuing days. He had been afraid then, too cowardly to speak up in the controversy that surrounded them, too uncertain of himself and his feelings to know what to do with the fragile heart that Fuji had placed in his hands. When he had finally realised that he did feel something for Fuji...was it love? Hate? He wasn't too sure but by that time the other had already withdrawn from their lives, his exit as subtle as his entrance into it. Sometimes, truly, he hated himself.

It would perhaps be a little absurd to declare that no one had been affected by his disappearance, but truly, Tezuka was amazed at how easily Fuji was forgotten. No, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the tensai had never truly been a part of their lives to begin with. Even his parents hadn't appeared to be too bothered by the loss of their second child. When he paid them a courtesy call shortly after Fuji was presumed dead, they weren't distraught or even unhappy, their expressions vaguely polite when Tezuka attempted to express his condolences. Granted, it had been nearly a year since his disappearance, but it was unnerving nevertheless to meet those blank eyes that appeared nearly clueless, as to whom, exactly, had disappeared and why.

"They loved you, you know." Tezuka said aloud, feeling almost foolish as he reached out and ran the pad of his thumb over a silk ebony tie.

He was going mad. It had been nearly 5 years and he still couldn't quite forget those cerulean eyes that shone and darkened with his every mood, those eyes that captured the sky in their depths, those blue, blue eyes that had closed against the world that they both knew.

"I mean it, Fuji." Tezuka closed the door, still chatting to the invisible figure that he imagined sitting upon his bed and waiting patiently for an explanation. Fuji's presence never quite left his mind, a blurred silhouette, a flash of colour at the edge of his vision, the vanilla scent that Fuji carried with him. There were days he had to hold to his sanity so tightly for fear that he would break, forcing the lump in his throat to disappear when a wave of misery and longing so acute threatened to overwhelm him.

"It's been 5 years since you vanished. You can't blame them for forgetting what you were like, really. Not when no one seemed to know who you were exactly, and what you were like. Can you understand that I am doing my best?"

His explanations sounded weak to himself, an exhortation that made him wince even as he said it. He closed the wardrobe again when he realised that he didn't have the mood to attend the seminar at night. Atobe could very well do without his company. He wondered why the other boy stood by him. There were others that the young heir of the Atobe empire could have chosen, but somehow, he remained friends with Tezuka to the extent that he regularly sought him out for no reason but for his company. Frequently, he thought about how abnormally lucky he would be if he wound up in love with Atobe, but thankfully, they both knew it was impossible. Atobe was in love with another, as was he. There was no salvation for them both, only the distraction that the other could provide momentarily with body and mind.

* * *

At the sound of the doorbell, he left his book lying forgotten at the foot of the black leather upholstery. He knew Atobe would be angry, but he too, needed a break once in a while. Swinging the door fully open, Tezuka regarded the unexpected visitor and felt a strange tug at his heart when unfamiliar, nostalgic memories flooded his mind.

"Fuji-san…it's been a while since I last saw you."

"I need you to help me find my brother."

He had invited Yuuta into his apartment, his mind racing whilst he pretended to busy himself with the preparation of warm tea. He had not seen the other boy for the past 5 years, ever since he had graduated from Seigaku. He had been stunned to see the younger boy at his door, looking as though the cares of the world rested upon his shoulders. There had been little physical changes in him, only that his hair had lengthened over the years until it brushed the tips of his ear lobes. His face appeared strained and dark circles rimmed his eyes.

Yuuta steadied his hands as he clasped them around the delicate cup, the heat steaming from the aromatic tea and warming him up. When Tezuka had seated himself in front of him, he began talking without preamble.

"I won't take up too much of your time. I know you're a busy man, and well, now that you've returned to Japan, I thought it'd be a good time to talk to you. It's a matter regarding these dreams I've been having for a while, about the conversations Syuusuke and I used to have in my room, about ordinary stuff about music and movies and the latest addition to his family of cacti."

"And… well… lately I've been waking up to find that there's a warm spot on the bed, as if someone had been sitting there only moments ago. And it's not just in dreams. I keep seeing him, walking past a shop window, sitting on the swing set in the old park…only there's something wrong with the image, like ripples in a pond. When I reach out to touch him he's gone. Or I'll hear him call my name or say something mundane but when I turn around there's this sense of someone being there but there's no one around..."

Yuuta shut his eyes, deeply humiliated.

"Oh god, you think I'm crazy, don't you? I knew it."

"No. I experienced them too."

"...you're joking."

"To be honest, that was one of the main factors that led me to accept the offer from one of the universities overseas, although I told Inoue-san that it was because of my treatment in Germany."

"So you know! You've known all this time! Why haven't you said anything?" Yuuta flared up at him exasperatedly, glaring at the older man.

"What would you have me say about this form of post-traumatic disorder? You and I have suffered long enough from these hallucinations. It's time to let these memories return to the past."

"Argh! It's not true!! Ask Echizen! I've talked to him and even _he _experiences it. Are you saying everyone suffers from these delusions, after all this time? It's only been 5 years, Tezuka, and it'd take me much longer than that to believe all the bullshit that he's dead or lying in a ditch somewhere.

"Aniki wasn't that kind of person, Tezuka. Surely you...at least you...would know that." He finished hoarsely, his fingers gripping a slender volume that protruded from his satchel.

Tezuka gazed at the younger man and stood up. There was nothing he could do for him any longer if Yuuta persisted in his foolish beliefs. It must have been difficult for him to understand how his brother wasn't as universally treasured as he had always believed; that the golden boy of the family had been forgotten so easily and left behind as the trains of time rushed on.

Sensing that he had overstayed his welcome, Yuuta rummaged in his bag.

"Here."

"What is this?"

But he had a sinking feeling that he already knew what was within the book. It was too slender, too elegant to be something that Yuuta owned. The leathery feel of the cream coloured book and the familiar scent of vanilla that met his nose were too familiar to be ignored. Tezuka pressed the tips of his fingers to the bridge of his nose, determinedly ignoring the sudden pounding in his head.

"It belongs to him. I believe there are things in there that would interest you. Please...you need to help. You were the one that he was closest to. If there's any chance at all that he can be found...please, Tezuka, I can't do this alone."

He had already shown Yuuta to the door by then, his heart in turmoil when he gazed down at the slim book. This was absurd, this was pure insanity and if Syuusuke was around, he'd laugh gently at him and take the volume away from his hands. That was the way Syuusuke was, he never compelled you with the raw emotion that Yuuta employed. He would only suggest and hope and wait pointlessly for an answer that would never come. He was also subtle and annoying and manically compulsive in search of entertainment, and Tezuka missed him badly.

"Don't expect anything much, I'd take a look at it but I can't guarantee anything."

* * *

END CHAPTER


	3. A Warm Coloured Dream

Sleep was a form of release in its shifting images and deep silences.

He couldn't explain the silence that resided in him, a vacuum that coiled itself deeper and deeper inside with the repetitive ticking of the clock on the night table. Through 24-hour cable broadcasts, a variety of sounds permeated through the flimsy wooden door all night. The silence in his mind came more frequently when noise closed in on him, almost tripping over itself in rousing waves of volume until it smashed against the shut walls of his bedroom and left him untouched. If there were no sounds of life in his apartment, his mind would grasp desperately at the ticking of the clock, memorising it, imitating it, repeating it until he wound up with a major headache the next day.

Within the silence, there was something important that he could listen out for. Perhaps it heralded the arrival of something else, but he didn't know what it was since he never remembered once he awoke. Even the memory of the sound faded within seconds of his awaking, leaving only faint traces behind. It was vague and indescribable, but he fancied that it sounded like the opening of a distant door, somewhere.

On that fateful day all those years ago, he hadn't even been concerned when he first found out that Fuji's seat had been empty all day. He wasn't even shocked when the news began spreading that Fuji hadn't returned home since the night before as well. He didn't think that he batted an eyelid when he ordered the rest of the team to stop gossiping and return to the tennis courts. No, it had taken him a much longer time before Fuji's absence hit him.

_In the middle of a match, he raised his racket to deliver the final smash shot to seal the game. _

_In the silence of his mind, he heard the click of a camera._

A few months after Fuji's disappearance, the appearances had begun. When he least expected it, he caught a glimpse of Fuji sitting at his favourite spot on the swings, heard him speak to people despite the complete lack of response, felt the silhouette of his frame against the sun-burnt bricks.

Yet, no one was there when he turned around.

He had considered that the rest of the team suffered from the same delusions, until he realised that with the exception of Eiji and himself, as well as Echizen who remained strangely remote from the entire state of affairs, few of them even appeared to care that Fuji Syuusuke had vanished. When he enquired further, even Fuji's parents were starting to forget about their child. If he had remained in Japan, perhaps he would have wound up like them.

The paranoia lingered even when he moved to Germany, resulting in him being terrified of leaving the safety of his apartment for some time. Fear spiked in him each time he considered stepping outside and feeling the raw vitality of the throngs of people, rubbing against him, blending into him, _becoming_ him. It made his skin crawl. He left the house only when it was strictly necessary, and then only to the deserted all-night convenience stores around 2-3am. He sometimes wondered when he had become so pathetic, but he had also become extremely competent at erasing those thoughts whenever they barged into his mind. Although there was one day where he had snapped, calmly collecting every trophy and medal in his house before tossing everything into the garbage. He hadn't really minded their loss, but it did leave his cupboards bare, apart from the forlorn photographs. That night where he had lost his mind, he remembered turning on the television so loud that even his long-suffering neighbours had come by to speak to him about it.

It still made him smile sometimes, remembering the horrified look on Atobe's face when he saw Tezuka's living quarters for the first time. All it took was one Atobe Keigo barging into his life, his haughtiness forcing Tezuka to return to what the diva had declared were "basic standards of civilisation".

He lay back on his bed, holding a coloured glass pyramid up to the light. It was a whimsical, pretty object that Atobe had bought as a souvenir on one of his many overseas trips. It reflected green-yellow when the light caught it at an angle, but with the craters inside seeped in a lush forest shade so dark that it gradually blended into black.

The silence was growing in him. The ineffectual grasping after an intangible presence that haunted his life, left him yearning for the touch that kissed him goodbye in the morning and said his name in a voice he couldn't quite remember. He could sense the dank, determined grip of the silence upon him and the yawning emptiness that opened consequently in his soul. He wanted to fight it, but his fingers closed around an emerald luminosity and he leapt into a different kind of oblivion.

"Ne, Tezuka...what are you doing?"

He turned to see Fuji settling himself comfortably beside him, resting his head against his shoulder.

"F-Fuji! What am I doing?"

He looked down at his hands and saw the opened journal.

_"I never thought it was possible for someone like me to make friends, before I transferred to Seigaku. I had thought that it would be the same like my previous school, but surprisingly, I am not the one that is bullied from the start. One of the seniors had hurt Tezuka-kun earlier, and I couldn't forgive him for that. So I played with him a little, making him taste the sweet victory that lingered at his fingertips, before snatching it away and humiliating him in straight sets. _

_Actually I don't understand why I did that, seeing how Tezuka-kun is not even my friend. I tried talking to him before, but apart from tennis, he merely gives me this...look as though I am not worthy of his time. Even his responses are limited to noncommittal grunts of some sort. _

_The seniors cornered me, knowing that I was the last to leave, since I hadn't finished running the laps... _

_After that...Tezuka found me in the locker room. The expression in his eyes was something I never saw before. It was the spirit and soul of something indomitable, unchallenged, proud, caged in the apparent serenity of his eyes._

_I had just never been close enough to see it before."_

There was silence at he came to the end of the entry.

They had been juniors then, but their coach had been determined to nurture them as the future talents in Seigaku. Not that it had been obvious, but he had never let their training slacken, and they trained at the same pace as their seniors. Jealousy and petty rivalries were rife throughout the tennis club, but he could honestly say that he never once believed that the brunt of it fell upon him, as Fuji's entry seemed to imply. He wanted to tell the other that he was wrong, he wanted to shake him and hear something, anything spill from the crimson lips of the doll beside him. It was his dream and he could do anything he wanted, but the silence was already fraught with a sense of tension, and Tezuka had honed his senses acutely enough to realise that if he remained as agitated as he was, he would eventually snap out from this dream into reality again.

His breath escaped from him in a soft hiss. A cold, clammy sensation was clutching at his heart, and he _knew _without looking up that the scenery of the room would change to suit his every whim. The daylight outside his windows were darkening even as he attempted to force himself to stop thinking. If he reached out far enough, his hands felt as though they would take hold of the invisible membrane around them, swiping holes through the spider webbing of his dreamscape.

Here he could have everything that he wanted, as long as he believed. Tezuka breathed in the vanilla scent of his soft hair, feeling the warmth of the body leaning against him. He didn't want to wake up. He wanted to remain where he was, in a stationary snapshot in time with the person he loved.

He let himself dream, knowing that nothing would ever be as beautiful again.

* * *

Tezuka's eyes snapped open, startled as the phone vibrated in his hands, ringing insistently until his fingers jerked to answer the call.

"Tezuka here," he answered automatically.

He could hear the television set blaring outside of his room. One moment he had been reading through Fuji's – no, wait, he hadn't actually seen the contents. His memory was slowly returning. Yuuta had visited him last night and handed him the journal, but he had decided to leave it untouched until the next morning. Somehow he must have fallen asleep, but while sitting up in bed - ?

He had the strangest feeling that he had forgotten something important.

He just couldn't remember what it was.

"Be grateful that ore-sama has graced you with a call this morning, despite your callous treatment of him the night before. Whatever the reason was, it must have been of life-threatening importance, aan?"

"Does this call have a purpose?"

"Your lack of social graces is appalling, my dear. My chauffeur will be at your house in ten. Get ready."

* * *

END CHAPTER


	4. Sinking of the Flowers

Atobe is silent when Tezuka finishes his explanation, much to his relief. After he left Seigaku, he had never felt completely at ease around others unless they were talking to fill up the empty space between them, masking his sense of social ineptitude. When he first came to know Atobe Keigo, he had believed that the other, just like everyone else, would speak endlessly about his possessions, praising his strengths and generally unceasing in his profuse admiration of himself. Yet Atobe had merely nodded and smiled slightly when Tezuka couldn't speak, and accepted it without a second thought. They spent the next few minutes saying nothing and watching the light rain fall outside the windows. The weather was queerly depressing these days, interspersing dull periods of pale sunshine with light rain and strong winds.

"You still miss him."

"...not particularly."

"You're lying, aren't you?"

"If this book hadn't appeared, the past wouldn't have been brought up."

Atobe sighed in exasperation. "Do you know that sometimes when you speak about Seigaku or tennis, your expression closes in a little, and your lips tighten in the way they do when you're stressed? Don't you see that it's not the book but Fuji Syuusuke himself – god, you even flinch at his name – you can't get over?"

Tezuka exhaled a breath quietly, clasping the cup of lukewarm coffee closer to him.

"I – I was the one who failed him. He didn't deserve to fall in love with me, if it had been someone else, anyone else, they would have been overjoyed and even if they weren't, they wouldn't have handled the situation as shamefully."

"But you weren't the one who spread it to the rest of the school..." Atobe murmured. They had been over this same conversation before, over and over again, repeating the sin to themselves in order to wash the ache away just a little each time. Atobe didn't know when he had last treated a friend with such tenderness but perhaps this was his penance.

"I _ran away_ when he first told me what he felt for me," Tezuka muttered, his cheeks burning. He dipped his head toward his drink, beckoning to the waitress for a refill.

"We were only children then."

"Wasn't he?"

* * *

_He hadn't seen Fuji at all for the past few hours. It was a little unnerving, considering how the team's genius had a propensity to stick to his side like glue. __He couldn't help but feel as though he was being stalked throughout school, since the __tensai's__ presence followed him everywhere he went. And where he didn't appear, Tezuka's paranoia and imagination made up for the lack. __Most people might have been scared or even frustrated at the intensity with which they were followed, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to get angry at the other boy. Fuji had always been a little more affectionate than Tezuka would have liked, but he had grown to tolerate that as well. __Not that he was dis__pleased, only__ resigned to the way Fuji indulged in his personality quirks, shifting __from one __phase __to another __as smoothly as a snake sheds its skin._

_"Good morning, Tezuka." _

_"Fuji," he sighed, hearing the voice coming from behind him. _

_He must have lost his mind. Even __Oishi__ had paused to look at him inquiringly, not to mention __Eiji__ who had paused comically in mid leap and proceeded to flail around in disbelief. _

_"Hoi, that was __Oishi__, not Fujiko – "_

_"Tezuka, are you feeling alright?"_

_"98.7 chance that Tezuka __– "_

_"__Fssh__, it's just a mix up, what's the fuss?!"_

_"Obviously you're blind AND deaf __Mamushi__, don't you know...uh oh."_

_"TWENTY LAPS NOW.__ ALL OF YOU."_

_Silence._

_"__S__aa__...even me?" Fuji piped up._

* * *

Tezuka clenched his fists involuntarily to quell the shaking of his hands. He felt the bite of his nails into his palm and relished it for the momentary relief it brought to him. If Atobe noticed, he didn't say a word, continuing to sip his coffee as though nothing had happened.

He couldn't breathe when he looked back at the past, and saw the ways in which he had been so _blind, _entirely unaware to Fuji's blind dedication and misplaced adoration. Ever since he knew Fuji, he had the feeling that the other was not to be trusted. Tolerated, but not liked. There was something unpredictable that simmered below the facade of calmness, something that was fully capable of lashing out and hurting him badly if he ever fell for the soft, delicate image presented to the world. He had looked into Fuji's eyes, and seen a reflection of his own. Yet, he hadn't realised. He had stayed obstinately blind and deaf to everything that didn't match his mind's impression of Fuji Syuusuke.

_Click._

It wasn't his fault that the infamous enigma had revealed himself to someone as dense as he. Wasn't it obvious he wasn't the most emotionally intuitive person in school? Yet Fuji must have loved him enough to throw away his pride, following his gut instinct even as it reeked of irrationality and desperation, as it must have appeared to him as well. It was the disquiet in Fuji's eyes that he remembered, when he had lost patience with the stalking and slammed the other against the locker, ignoring the way Fuji cried out when the metal lock stabbed painfully into his back. He had nearly failed his maths exam, a subject in which he was known for topping the class, all because he couldn't get the image of pale blonde hair and clear blue eyes out of his mind. It was the surprise and the way Fuji had said nothing, when he had bit out that he had enough of being followed, and he wanted to know what motives the other had in mind. The worst part was looking at his unguarded expression, the shutters that didn't hide the clear confusion on the other's face.

He had humiliated himself in front of Fuji, and the other clearly didn't know what to do about it.

Delusion didn't appear to be one of his weaknesses, at least not until now, when he had shown himself up as the superficial idiot who had presumed that he had been stalked, simply because he had seen his team mate around in school, the same boy who lived near his house and studied in the classroom right next to his. He wanted to laugh and die at the same moment from the acute embarrassment, and what appeared to be a deep, unsettled disappointment that made him want to scream at the same time.

When Fuji continued to say nothing and clutched at Tezuka's shirt hesitantly, he had fully expected the other to shove him away and demand to know what drugs he had taken that morning. When Fuji avoided his eyes, bowing his head so low until Tezuka couldn't see his face, the last thing he had expected was a confession.

"I didn't mean to, it's just that...I, somehow...unknowingly have fallen in love with you. Please don't, please don't go - " Fuji breathed shakily, his words so soft that Tezuka had to lean closer to catch them as they fell.

"What? I'm sorry, but..."

Tezuka had backed away when he caught sight of the drops of water that fell, bleeding across Fuji's shaking hands and reflecting the remnants of the light as they fell onto the ground. Fuji didn't have the strength to stand, his face buried in his hands as he fell against the locker, sliding soundlessly to the ground.

* * *

"Tezuka!"

He glanced up and saw Atobe's worried face. What did he do to merit such concern? He didn't deserve such warm sympathy, not when he had been the one to start everything and he had run and he had made him cry and made him disappear and never come back again and people were forgetting, simply forgetting_ Fuji Syuusuke _and he couldn't be the one to do that to him, and it was happening all over again –

A slap resounded smartly.

People turned in their seats to stare at them curiously.

"You weren't breathing, Tezuka."

"Thanks."

It was a gesture typical of Atobe. It appeared cold, even heartless, but the young heir had also been the person to walk into his life and literally slap enough sense into him, and put him together when he felt himself going to pieces. Atobe was a cold person, with a public persona so grandiose that most people were scared to death of meeting him in person, yet he was the kindest person that Tezuka knew. Even now, Atobe still looked prepared for the eventuality of Tezuka keeling over in his seat. He couldn't help feeling a little amused. No matter how scared or upset Atobe was, he would ensure that he had done everything in his power to ensure that no one else was shaking quite as badly as he was inside. It made Tezuka smile a little, despite himself. The infamous Atobe pride would bear on and on, regardless of the circumstances.

"What have you learnt so far from the diary?"

"When Fuji first went missing, I thought it was because of us, and the rumours that circulated around school. Apparently things were worse than I had imagined. The relationship he had with his brother had been deteriorating sharply before then and of course, the open conflict with Kikumaru as well."

"Ah, the best friend appears."

"Once upon a time, that might have been true. Apparently Kikumaru had asked Fuji to sound out Oishi on his opinion toward homosexual relationships."

"Let me guess. Fuji told Oishi of Kikumaru's feelings, since he knew that Kikumaru wouldn't say anything otherwise and also because he believed that Oishi reciprocated his affections."

"Another Insight?"

"None is required for the soap opera that seems to dog your entire team. Have you finished reading the entire diary?"

"Well, there's still one page which is still missing, but I'm sure you already know what was on that page, after Kikumaru was done with it."

"What can I say, I have my sources."

* * *

_He never truly appreciated how peaceful his life had been before then._

_It didn't take him long to recognise the handwriting on the page. Fuji's elegant writing, so neat that it looked printed onto the page, bled from one word to another, each expressing his love for Tezuka in such a warm and honest tone that it made him feel...strange. He didn't know what the emotion was called, but it coiled deep into his chest and made it hurt whenever he thought of the other. In the meantime, he was mocked throughout school, as the intended receiver of an emotionally raw, overly romantic letter from a boy. They may not have known who the writer had been from the contents of the letter, if not for the fact that Fuji's essays were frequently lauded with praise and hung around school to impress the academic excellence of __Seigaku__ on potential students and their parents._

_He hadn't seen Fuji in days, but the strange feeling that wouldn't go away whenever he thought of the other boy, made him feel almost vindictive. He wanted to lash out and make him cry, he wanted to hurt him and see what lay behind the cool mask that almost never slipped. He wanted to feel Fuji crying and trembling as he held onto him, he wanted to hear Fuji beg him again, he wanted to make him feel the same paranoia and intense turmoil that hadn't left him since three years ago, when Fuji smiled at him even when he was beaten up by their seniors. _

_The pages fluttered in the breeze, and he hated the students who stood around, gawking, whispering, their mocking laughter and he even hated those with their almost shy astonishment at the honesty of the entry. _

_He reached out and tore the prints savagely from the walls._

_In his mind, he couldn't stop thinking of him; the familiar scent of vanilla and apples, and the warmth of his body. He didn't think he'd ever seen Fuji cry before, but he had made him cry twice in the space of one week. That day, he had only been passing by the washroom, when he noticed a guy standing outside the closed door. He was a 2__nd__ year that Tezuka had spoken to before on occasion. When he had turned to enter the washroom, the lowerclassmen had tried to stop him, insisting that the place was undergoing cleaning and he shouldn't enter. _

_In the silence of the warm, golden afternoon, he had heard voices coming from inside._

_"You're not really a man are you?!"_

_" I always knew you were queer, there had to be something wrong with someone who looked so much like a fucking girl! Let's check it out, shall we?"_

_He didn't think he had ever been so angry in his life. Not even when he had first seen the diary page tacked against the door of his classroom. The rage simmered even as he pulled the nervous-looking sentry away, and strode into the washroom. He didn't have to say a single word and they cleared out immediately, panicking visibly when they noticed his entrance. Fuji was almost catatonic in his silence, sitting on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest, a small figure that huddled closer to himself when Tezuka leant down. He responded, raising his eyes slowly to meet Tezuka's, when he offered him a hand._

_It was the second time Tezuka made him cry, and the guilt that arose made him retract his hand hastily, waiting silently and awkwardly as Fuji stood and dusted himself off, his smile strained but pasted on his face again._

_

* * *

_

"Did you talk to him? Fuji, I mean. Ever since that day when he told you how he felt?"

"He attempted to do so almost every day, but I deliberately stayed away from him, and ignored all his attempts at conversation. Finally, he told that he would cease to follow or talk to me again as long I met him..."

Tezuka paused.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing, I guess I just forgot where it was. Strange."

* * *

END CHAPTER


	5. Howling of the Social Riot Machines

"Here's your visitor's pass."

Tezuka nodded and collected the small card, clipping it over his shirt pocket. The sense of unease lingered even as he continued walking towards the tennis grounds, absently running his fingers against the cover of the diary. Seigaku was almost exactly how it had been; the tennis courts at a distance, familiar gates creaking and swinging from their spots, the colours of the school painted over with warmer colours to represent a shift in education policy. Essentially, nothing had changed. The students were the same too, their eyes reflecting the same earnestness, the same joie de vivre as his batch had once possessed.

Fuji mentioned a few people repetitively throughout his diary, and they were Eiji, Yuuta and him. After his disappearance, the police should at least have questioned them, only they didn't, and only now did he realise that Fuji's parents probably knew next to nothing about their own son. He didn't blame them; unlike Yuuta where what you saw was what you got, Fuji's calm demeanour and pleasant smiles must have imparted a quietly impervious image of him to them. There mustn't have been anything that he didn't seem capable of, as the gentle child with the best grades, the porcelain skin and sky blue eyes, the talented sportsman...his list of achievements went on and on. Yet, behind the mask of perfection, there must have been someone who was capable of laughing, of crying, of breaking down when things were too much for him to bear. After all, his disappearance proved that, hadn't it?

Although he couldn't shake off the feeling that Fuji was still waiting somewhere –

The students walked past and no one was standing there. Perhaps he was being cowardly, but he wasn't going to interview either Eiji or Yuuta, until he had exhausted the narrow pool of candidates he had listed. His headache had increased over the past couple of days, and it gnawed away at him whenever his anxiety rose, as insistent as a tooth extraction occurring inside his head. He gave a barely perceptible sigh of relief as he spotted a familiar figure outside of the teacher's lounge.

"Tezuka! I'm so glad that you're here!"

"Oishi."

His old friend hadn't changed much over the past few years, although his hair had lengthened a little from its customary bob and his fringe was kept back by a headband. Oishi Syuuichiro had studied physical conditioning and applied to return to Seigaku as a teaching assistant for Ryuuzaki-sensei. He looked tanner, more at ease with himself and Tezuka recognised at a glance that Oishi had shed the awkward phase when he hovered anxiously around others, all arms and elbows and joints.

"It's nice to see you again! Why did you want to come all the way to Seigaku when we could have met outside for lunch just as easily?"

"I thought I might want to walk around our old school and see what has changed."

Oishi looked at him wonderingly, before breaking into a small smile.

"You've certainly changed, Tezuka."

"I did?"

"In the past, you always seemed to be in such a hurry. Somehow you seemed so determined in rising to the top, you were almost relentless in your ideals of perfection."

"Two steps forward, one step back, wasn't it?"

"Maa… perhaps, you just weren't too sure what you really wanted at that time." He suggested mildly, his hands buried in his pockets as they walked slowly down the corridor. It was only a matter of time before their feet brought them to the familiar tennis courts. They sat at an empty bench beside a deserted court, which was thankfully shaded in the afternoon sunlight. Oishi talked on cheerfully, updating Tezuka on whatever he had missed while he was studying in Germany. Around them, the warm breeze rifled through the tree branches and sent small golden leaves spinning through the air.

"But why are you really here, Tezuka? Ah, not that it isn't nice to see you again!" Oishi wrung his hands anxiously and Tezuka had to bite back the twitch in his cheek.

"I'd just come to the point then. Have you seen…"

Tezuka paused, uncertain as to how to continue without sounding like a madman.

"Is this about Fuji?"

"You knew what I was going to ask?"

"To be honest, I was a little surprised that it took you so long to inquire about it. Most of us had always assumed that you would be the most interested in Fuji's affairs. But 5 years passed with barely a word from you…I guess we all just took it for granted that you'd moved on."

Oishi leant back against the bench, his brows knitted together as he squinted at the sunlight filtering through the leaves.

"In these past few years, quite a number of things changed. Echizen returned to America to concentrate on tennis, our year graduated, Momo and Kaidoh undertook co-captaincy during their year… Even though we spent 2 years together, somehow I've never really known Fuji personally. I don't think I've even come close. No, let me finish…" Oishi continued relentlessly, even when Tezuka looked as though he was about to interrupt.

"I've never really understood him. I mean, sure, I like him as a friend, we had fun together, it was always good to know that there was someone we could rely on at the end of the day. But…what made him happy? What made him sad? What connected him to the rest of us – was it really friendship? I've never knew what the world seen through his eyes was like. If there is such a concept as 'genius', I will accept that he is one such example…and you are another."

"The two of you are too similar, Tezuka. Did I ever tell you that? I wish I did, I wish I said something earlier, before this entire mess grew into something uncontrollable. When you're together with Fuji, the look in your eyes mirrors his. I've always thought that somehow, only you can touch the world that he inhabits; only you can reach him. What happened between you two?"

"I think the problem lies more in that nothing did happen."

"Ah…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry! But do you have any idea where he could have gone?"

"Not exactly …well, this may sound a little strange but do you ever feel as though you're…forgetting something?"

The look in Oishi's eyes was all he needed to know the truth.

"You've experienced it too, then?" Oishi whispered, his expression stricken. "I thought I was going mad! There are times when I turned around on the tennis courts, and I feel as though someone had been leaning against the wall only a moment ago. I should be scared, but somehow I'm not! Only a strange but familiar feeling is aroused in me, this curious sensation that makes me want to cry instead. It's like…it's like…"

"Like you're missing something important, only that you can't remember what it is?"

"Yes, that's exactly it! Only…only that I know that it's Fuji. Fuji's the one who's disappeared, isn't it? I know that, so why – why do I still feel this way?"

"You're not alone in this. I feel like I remember Fuji, yet there are certain details about him which elude me. I think I remember him, but within a day or two, the facts have all but disappeared, and only by reading the notes which I left, do I remember what it was that I could have so easily forgotten."

"Do you think everyone feels the same way about this?"

"Not Atobe, that's for sure. He's remembered practically everything about Fuji, except for the trivial details perhaps, which most people would probably have forgotten in the span of 5 years anyway. What about Eiji? What does he remember?"

"Eiji is probably a little different."

"What do you mean?"

"He doesn't remember Fuji at all."

* * *

He remembered, the last time he had entered the Fuji household. A couple of weeks had passed since Fuji had been reported missing. Fuji Syuusuke had been last seen walking out of the school, and a few witnesses had come forward to report that they had seen him sitting alone on a bench in the nearby park. That night's storm had been one of the worst that Tezuka had ever remembered and Fuji had never been seen again after that night. So Tezuka paid a visit to the Fuji household against his will, something inside dragging him back into the house with its shrouded unhappiness.

He remembered Yumiko's voice which emerged barely above a whisper in the still kitchen.

"Somehow, I have forgotten what he is like but only 2 weeks have passed. Sometimes I worry myself sick over his disappearance, yet when the moment passes, I have forgotten what I was worrying about. Even now, I feel more detached than worried, as I should be."

He remembered feeling as though his memories were being chipped away just from his contact with Yumiko. There was an irrational urge to surround himself with the solitude of his home, and the pages of his personal journal, holding the memories close to himself before they faded away. Some mornings, he had awakened with a start, a strange twinge in his chest and a nagging feeling at the back of his mind that whispered of things forgotten. Panic often overtook him in those moments, until his mind had recaptured an elusive image of Fuji in his mind and he could breathe more easily again. The rest of the team was starting to forget. He found himself resenting their ability to laugh and act as though nothing was wrong, as though it hadn't only been 2 weeks ago that Fuji had disappeared. Was he the only one who couldn't disregard the complete disappearance of his teammate?

Her voice could not be erased, refused to be erased.

"Yesterday, I thought I felt his presence the other day in the kitchen. I heard him crying...I could feel him standing just behind me. But I didn't want to turn around... The crying ceased the moment my abrupt bout of misery ended. There was no one there, when I turned around. Did I…was I the one who chased him away again?"

Yumiko had started crying then, and Tezuka waited awkwardly at her side, unsure of whether he should put his arm around her or wait for her to recover her senses. It didn't take long for her grief to fade, her eyes closing slowly as she rocked herself to and fro in the kitchen chair.

* * *

"A few months after Fuji disappeared, a curious change occurred in Eiji. From some time he seemed genuinely happy, but occasionally, a shadow crossed his face and he would turn to me, looking almost stricken with a sudden realisation. Yet before he could articulate his concern, the thought would vanish. With time, these incidents occurred less and less often, until one day he turned to me and asked:

'Oishi, who's the boy over there? The one with light brown hair and blue eyes?'

"After the words left his mouth, he just stood there with this…this _look _on his face." Oishi gestured helplessly.

"Just like that, he started crying in the middle of the tennis courts, and I hadn't the faintest idea how to help him. There were all these juniors staring, you were playing a match against Momo in the other court, and some of the other regulars looked like they were about to run over in concern. Ryuuzaki-sensei gave us leave to skip the rest of practice, so I led Eiji to our usual hiding place. He really scared me then, you know? The way he had seemed so distant when he has asked me who the person was, the way he broke down on the tennis courts…"

"In a way it was good, I guess. I never had the courage to give Fuji my answer, when he asked me how I felt about Eiji. I just thought it was wrong for two guys to be together, and what _would _my family say when I brought him home and introduced him as er, my boyfriend?" Oishi turned red as he stuttered over the endearment.

Tezuka pretended not to notice.

"I didn't know that you and Kikumaru were together then."

Oishi smiled ruefully. "Somehow I get the impression that you're just holding back the urge to yell at us for wasting our time on such frivolities when we should have been concentrating on tennis."

"Aa, as I probably should have done then too." Tezuka acknowledged.

"But why Eiji? Why do some of us remember? And some of us forget? You know I'm not superstitious by nature, but there's something about this whole affair that is a little unearthly. Or spooky if you'd prefer. I would be scared, only that it's _Fuji _and I can't help but feel sad whenever I think about him instead. Do you see him around too, Tezuka?"

"Yes. No…I'm not too sure. I feel as though he's too familiar, for him to have disappeared 5 years ago. Sometimes I turn, expecting to see someone but nothing's there. Sometimes I wake up from dreams I can't remember, but I remember my mind being so at ease, I can't help but think that – " Tezuka broke off in embarrassment.

"I understand what you mean." Oishi muttered, patting him on his shoulder in a commiserating manner. "Well, unlike us, Ryoma-kun appears to takes everything in his stride."

"Didn't he return to the States?"

"He came back for a visit once. I remember him suggesting dryly that I should put up travel posters around the club room showcasing Paris or something, because Fuji's dedication to our tennis courts was bordering on obsession."

"I take it that he remembers Fuji well?"

"Yes, his memory hasn't been affected in the least. Like Atobe, as you mentioned, only the trivial details have been forgotten. I've known Fuji for a longer time than him, yet I seem to remember less about him than Ryoma-kun does."

* * *

They sat in companionable silence for a while, admiring the last drops of evening sunlight on the grass. Tezuka mentally went through the facts in his mind. For now, he knew about 6 people's reactions to Fuji's disappearance, excluding his own. The ones who remembered and the ones who had forgotten…

"Oishi, let us pretend for a little while that Fuji's disappearance is somehow linked to us forgetting about him. Is it possible that the people Fuji feels closest to are the ones most affected by the amnesia?"

"But – but that doesn't make any sense! Are you suggesting that _Fuji_ is somehow erasing our memory?!"

"Also, probably only those who feel close to Fuji, have a chance of regaining their memories."

Oishi sputtered in confusion for a while, his mind working frantically around the conclusion. Surely it wasn't possible that one person had such power, Fuji had never shown any inclination toward the supernatural or… had he simply forgotten about it? He sank lower into his chair and momentarily regretted hearing Tezuka out.

"I've given it some thought, and your story and Eiji's seem to back up my theory."

"O-okay.. In short, you're saying that it depends on whether Fuji feels closer to the person, or whether the person feels closer to Fuji? The more Fuji is attached to the person, the more they will forget about him. Conversely, if the person is close to Fuji, he will attempt to remember? Hence, taking Atobe as an example, he is not affected by the amnesia because Fuji wasn't very close to him to begin with."

"By the 2nd week of his disappearance, Yumiko forgot many things about her brother but she's one of the few who still sees Fuji lingering in the vicinity."

"And it was the same with Echizen! He is not affected, because Fuji was not particularly close to him."

"With Eiji, his memory loss was the most severe. If this theory holds, it is because Fuji was extremely close to him. Conversely, Eiji's seen him around occasionally, but these occasions have fallen greatly, because Eiji was not as attached to Fuji from the start, he tried to sever their friendship at the time of his disappearance, and as time passes, their link weakened further until Eiji had forgotten him completely."

"But I'm not particularly close to Fuji and yet I've 'seen' him a couple of times, at least more often that the rest of the team. How do you explain that?"

"You worry about everyone, more so than others, don't you?"

"Oh…I see. But what about you, Tezuka?"

"I seem to oscillate between remembering and forgetting him. For the past 5 years, I couldn't shake the feeling that I knew a little less about Fuji with every passing day. I took to writing down my impressions and memories of him, and that has helped me to keep some of my thoughts. Now that Fuji's brother has asked me to find his brother, I personally intend to see it to its conclusion."

"But all this time has passed…he could be anywhere, isn't it?"

"I cannot afford to do anything else. Inside of my mind, there is a curious blankness. Every day, I lose a little more of myself and I cannot remember what it is that I do not understand about this matter. If I cannot find Fuji, I lose that which I do not realise that I have lost."

"Ah, it's best to be careful then. You should understand better than anyone else, that Fuji Syuusuke has always been completely unpredictable. I'm afraid I cannot help you anymore than this, I have told you everything that I know."

"Aa. Thank you, I really appreciate you taking the time to talk to me."

"Come on, we're old friends, aren't we?" Oishi laughed nervously. "Have you seen Inui recently, by the way?"

"No. What happened to him?"

"Ahh, it's nothing! Nothing at all."

* * *

END CHAPTER

A/N: I'm sorry for the delay! And I'm sorry(er) if it's even more boring than usual!!


	6. The Unforgiven

The first time he had seen Fuji, he had barely given a thought to the other. He seemed so mild and unassuming in comparison to the others that he had come to know. He didn't have the same determined look that some of the other players wore, the same hunger that belied a consuming passion for tennis. If he had to choose a word to describe Fuji in that instant, he could only say that the other was apathetic. Later, he had seen Fuji exhibit his famous ball control in an unguarded moment, and he had been fascinated despite himself. Afterward, he had watched Fuji's games and learnt that he played tennis in a steady, merciless fashion, decimating of his opponents in straight sets. His talent wasn't unenvied but back then, no one knew enough about the newcomer to provoke him outright.

When he saw Fuji play doubles with Takashi for the first time, he found himself taken aback by the freedom of Fuji's smile, the thrill in his expression, the way he threw his head back and laughed, exulting as they won and Takashi smiling, looking embarrassed but happy beside him. The sunlight had touched his hair, throwing golden highlights against the pale strands, and sweat trickled down his forehead and into his eyes, forcing him to blink. He looked up to watch Tezuka watching him, his blue eyes luminescent against the evening sky, eerily piercing and serious as he had stared at him.

Then he _smiled, _his eyes sliding shut as he waved cheerily at Tezuka.

It was at that moment when Tezuka realised what he had found so disturbing about the other boy. He was shuttered, closed against the world, holding an impenetrable defence between himself and the outside world. It was a wall which he didn't think anyone realised existed, except for him. The rest of his friends, even Oishi and Inui, hadn't found anything perturbing about the other boy, aside from his obscene talent that had already begun to garner him the nickname of Seigaku's resident genius. They were interested in playing matches with him and testing out their strengths against him, but Tezuka was fascinated, almost obsessed with the idea of finding out more about the other boy, enough to break him and see what lay beyond his mask. There were always people who were willing to be Fuji's friend, and even more who admired him and chased after him as if they had nothing better to do with their time. Couldn't any of them see the arrogance which allowed Fuji appeared warm and gracious to everyone? It was the condescension that allowed him to hold people at a distance and inspect them at his leisure. Tezuka believed that the other was completely incapable of real emotion.

After that day on the courts, Fuji had attempted to be friends with him but he had always held back, holding himself at a distance, just to see how far the tensai would go to become his friend. Although he had always been scrupulously polite and gracious towards the other, he could tell that the tensai was becoming increasingly puzzled and intrigued as to why Tezuka never seemed to reciprocate his friendship. It was a game, a competition, a rivalry that went on inside of Tezuka's mind, as he waited patiently for the day Fuji would cave in and ask him why the distance between them was insurmountable no matter how he tried. Inside, he wondered if Fuji would lose interest in him as a friend if he had accepted such shallow friendship from him, just like everybody else. Every day, he waited and told himself that it would be the day where Fuji would ask him.

The day never arrived.

He had hurt his hand one day, when one of his seniors had slammed his racket against his arm. The pain had blinded him for a moment, before the shame and grief had sparked into a fierce anger. The sport's reputation had been dragged through the mud by degenerates such as these, would invoked physical violence whenever they lost. There was no honour or joy to be found in playing against people who didn't understand that tennis was not invented to injure others. Later, he had forfeited in his short match against Fuji, regretting his rashness in attempting to play with an injured arm. Fuji had been horrified when Tezuka collapsed, but all Tezuka had felt was shame at his own weakness.

He had been on his way home when he looked up and saw the last piece of burnished golden sky. At that moment, he had thought that just like this, he would continue playing tennis, the game would continue and he would carry on fighting until he reached the pinnacle of tennis itself. He couldn't give up simply because his arm was injured when he was still fully capable of playing with his right arm. Thus he walked slowly back to school, fully expecting to practise by himself again, since everyone had probably left by then.

He froze when he heard the locker room's door open. The same seniors, who had picked on him earlier, were walking out of the place, their harsh triumphant laughter tinged with a strange indefinable quality to it. It had taken him some time before he recognised that the feeling he had heard was fear. The door was still ajar and Tezuka walked in as quietly as possible, dreading the worst. Of everything that he had been expecting, he had not calculated that Fuji Syuusuke would be standing in front of the mirror, silently eyeing the bruises that had formed on his body. He had sucked in a breath inaudibly when he'd seen the faint smear of blood at the side of the tensai's lips, and the bruises on his stomach. Fuji's expression never changed even when he was alone, calmly shrugging off his shirt which had been torn and turning it around in his hands to inspect the damage done.

Fuji's head snapped upwards when Tezuka involuntarily took a step forward. Their eyes met in the mirror and Tezuka tensed at the familiar expression on that face, an impassive regard that made his stomach churn. They were lovely, clear blue eyes and Tezuka saw the emptiness in them before Fuji turned away from him again, sliding his arms into the shirt and looking around for his jacket. He had thought that he understood what had happened. He believed that Fuji had been bullied by their seniors. He wanted to put his arm around Fuji and quell the slight shaking of his hands, he wanted to know why Fuji didn't say a single word, he wanted to hear the same, empty assurances that Fuji gave everyone. Yet all he did was to inquire icily as to Fuji's condition. There was no change in Fuji's expression, except the corners of his lips quirking into its familiar smile.

"It's late, Tezuka. Shall we go before they lock the school gates?"

It was exactly like the time when he hadn't taken notice of Fuji, and without his knowledge, had been observed by the other. Fuji had seen him picking up the balls, being assigned the tedious task by the seniors, and he had joined him immediately. In the glow of the evening sunset, Fuji had gently asked him if he was truly left-handed. It was delicately phrased, and put across just as lightly, yet in that moment, Tezuka had felt his heart sink when he recognised that his façade was dangling in the palm of Fuji's hand, dependent upon his moods and favours. He had waited for Fuji to elaborate on his point, to make his demands clear, and somehow all the other boy did was to smile and invite him to walk home together. He had nearly driven himself crazy wondering who the other was, and what he really wanted, but at the end of the day, when even Inui's predictions about the tensai came up short every single time, he was left alone with his wild hopes and confusion.

At the start, he had hoped to draw Fuji out, to witness his true form and to play against him that was the most beautiful, the most deadly, and the strongest in their team. Yet Fuji had never displayed the same eagerness to defeat him by challenging him in a match and winning. It was almost as though he shied away from direct confrontation with Tezuka. It had always been a point of contention with him that Fuji might have been concealed his strength simply because he didn't wish to win their match. He constantly felt as though he was being looked down upon, that he wasn't good enough. It was almost ironic how the Chinese letters of Fuji's name meant an unwillingness to be second and a reluctance to lose.

When had he changed so much?

Later, he had learnt that there were rumours that the senior who injured his elbow was applying for a change of school. Somehow he couldn't help linking this with the dishevelled state that Fuji had been in, and the curious blankness of his face that had almost resembled anger in the space of a single second.

There were other more outrageous rumours that were floating around the school. He didn't pay much attention to them, although his attention had been caught involuntarily by Fuji Syuusuke's name. The tensai was rumoured to have defeated those seniors in straight sets, playing with them a little before he apparently got bored and ended all with all three games in his favour. As the day wore on, he heard variations of the story, as to how Fuji had won 6-0, and how the seniors had dissolved into despair at the hands of an unrelenting genius. Tezuka thought that the truth was probably more sordid and less glamorous than what anyone believed.

* * *

3 years had elapsed and it had been an exceedingly warm day as he remembered.

Many of the players had been lethargic, and even the regulars were listless and distracted. He had been relieved when training had ended for the day and everyone was dismissed. Outside, the sky was steadily being submerged into gold, burnt orange and red. Dipping his head beneath the running water, he endured the cool liquid soaking his hair and trickling into his shirt. On that day, Fuji's performance on that day had been stellar as always, silently bearing the heat and the unrelenting humidity as if it was nothing.

In the years that had passed, the game had continued wordlessly. He remembered the shade of the room and the hooded eyes, which were mirror reflections of his own. He remembered the paleness of his shoulders contrasting against the darkness of the room, and the fine shoulder-length hair which dipped slightly below them. He was the only one who had seen the bruises and the faint smear of blood against a split lip.

He wanted Fuji to end the game and come to him as his equal. There was nothing less than that which he would accept. Fuji was too brilliant, too strong, to continue hiding behind his mask. If nothing intrigued him enough to come out of his shell, Tezuka would become the person required in order to wake him. He had become too obsessed with the other to give up now. All these years, it had taken him all of his severe willpower to ignore Fuji who had tried to talk to him in class, as well as during training. He took care to be gracious and polite enough to the other boy, yet he was frigid enough to end most conversations as swiftly as they had begun. He _knew _Fuji well enough to predict that he wouldn't take it lying down, wouldn't be able to resist thinking and countering his actions, unable to walk away and leave their friendship at such an impasse.

Tezuka had waited until he was reasonably confident that everyone had left the locker room, before heading towards it. This time, it came as less of a shock to find Fuji sitting on a bench inside, silently staring at his hands. When it appeared that Fuji wasn't about to say anything, he started walking towards his bag only to have a soft voice stop him in his tracks.

"What do you want me to do?"

Finally. He didn't want this capitulation, this quiet submission to his whims, when Tezuka knew of the person that lay beneath the mask. He had seen him clearly enough, in the person who singlehandedly drove their senior to leave the school, in the person who had laughed in the exhilaration of a game, in the person whose eyes saw no difference in whether his skin was unscarred or marred, bleeding or intact. He was brilliant and deadly, and Tezuka didn't want him to bow his neck to someone he was not

"What do you mean? Stop looking so forlorn."

"You know what I mean. It's been 3 years. Do you honestly hate me that much, that even after all this time you're still unwilling to be friends with me?"

Tezuka was startled when Fuji stated everything in the open, his sharp blue eyes betraying his anger as he stared up at Tezuka. Something in him snapped; his frustration and anger breaking through the smooth, calm surface of his personality as he reached out to yank Fuji forward, meeting his gaze unblinking.

"Do you think I'd do this if I hated you?" Tezuka bit out.

"You're wrong. I'm doing this because I think about you, I think about what you could be, I think about you and I am tired of the way you remain in my shadow, when you could easily be the best in our team. What is wrong with you? Why doesn't someone as gifted as you, do anything about tennis when you could aspire to be one of the best in the world? Why don't you know how lucky you are?"

"You're angry with me because I don't seem to love tennis enough?" Fuji said at last, sounding bewildered as he looked up at Tezuka.

"Well, I suppose I should try to appreciate the sport more. I'd put in more effort in training if you'd like, Tezuka."

"This has nothing to do with me!" Tezuka nearly shouted in frustration. "It's about you! It's about what _you _want, and what you really desire!"

"Is it, really?"

Cerulean eyes gazed unflinchingly at him.

He wanted to shout that it _was_ all about him, that it obviously concerned his future and how he shouldn't take everything for granted. It wasn't enough to have talent, when there were people chasing in his shadow and threatening to overtake him. Then he remembered what he had just said. Fuji was right on that count at least. If Fuji chose to waste his life in this fashion, it had nothing to do with him.

It was none of his business and he didn't know why he felt so bitter.

"Do whatever you want," he said at last, turning to leave.

"Tezuka."

It was the way his name was said, a combination of a tone so heartbreaking he couldn't leave it alone, a strange sound that expressed regret more soundly than any words. He heard the way Fuji's voice hitched, and he heard the words behind it that spoke of weariness, and an inability to bear another 3 years of stasis, of looking and wondering and never being able to break past the other's barriers. He didn't want to turn and catch his breath on something as heartbreaking as it was beautiful, and be unable to let go of the image it etched on his mind for the next few years.

His name was repeated in the same soft tones, and he blankly registered Fuji standing and walking towards him. Again. The same infuriatingly beguiling sound and its gentle expression which made him so angry he wanted to punch the wall, wanted to hurt Fuji and watch him cry, wanted to make him shut up and stop saying his name in that heartbreaking manner.

His mind went blank when he turned and saw Fuji in front of him, his expression growing sadder when he saw the expression on Tezuka's face. He didn't know what Fuji was about to say, but he wanted him to shut up and not say anything in that voice that made him hurt and long for something inexpressible. On hindsight, he would have said that he was in love with Fuji, only that he had been too blind to know anything of what that emotion should feel like, and the way it encompassed him and made him feel as though the ground had been pulled out under his feet.

Fuji sounded as though he was about to say his name again, when Tezuka leant in and pressed his lips against his. Tezuka revelled in the strange power that it gave him over Fuji whose eyes had widened in shock. He stayed still, looking almost frightened as Tezuka's fingers brushed lightly against the side of his face and his mouth was placed firmly on his, luxuriating in the feel of Fuji's soft lips on his, his tongue lightly running against his soft bottom lip and seeking entrance into his mouth. Blindly groping for Fuji's wrist, Tezuka's pulled him even closer, breathing in the familiar scent of soap even as he kissed him, one hand tangling in the soft, fine hair. His aggressiveness had broken when Fuji responded eventually, his arms sliding around Tezuka's shoulders as he kissed back sweetly, his tongue sliding into Tezuka's mouth and making him bite back a groan. Tezuka exulted inwardly in the quiet moans that he was able to drag out from him, smiling at the involuntary gasp that escaped Fuji when his hand slipped beneath his shirt and stroked the small of his back. When they parted for air, Fuji leant his forehead against Tezuka's neck, breathing quietly as his fingers curled into Tezuka's shirt and rested there. Tezuka looked down at his exposed neck which was pale and unmarred and was tempted to mark him, but settled for pressing a brief kiss into his hair.

The sun had set by then. In the last dusty remnants of light that settled the room, Tezuka caught sight of his own reflection. He saw the rumpled quality of Fuji's shirt and wondered at its familiarity. Fuji's wrist still bore the marks of his fingers and he winced when he saw the beginnings of a bruise forming there.

The button that had hung on its thread.

The bruises and the faint smear of blood against a split lip.

He recoiled from Fuji in horror, his eyes widening at his sudden realisation. Fuji looked confused, and then understanding dawned on him as Tezuka took another step backwards. Fuji looked as though Tezuka had slapped him in the face. Tezuka wanted to tell him that he had got it wrong, that he wasn't leaving because of him, but he caught sight of the bruises that he left on his arm and words had never seemed so empty. This time it hadn't been them, this time it hadn't been someone else who had caused Fuji's expression to slide into their familiar blankness, the shutters in his eyes sliding shut again. Without another word, Fuji hoisted his bag onto his shoulder and left without looking back.

The door swung shut silently behind him.

* * *

END CHAPTER

A/N: This is a belated birthday post for Fuji! If you enjoyed this story, hated it, or you're looking for someone to discuss the weather, big dogs, yellow jumpsuits and great mysteries in life, do review!


	7. In This Violet Hour

Things had only escalated from that point onwards.

They were back on thin ice and the rest of the team was starting to notice. He didn't know why he didn't chase after him on that evening to explain what he had thought, to ask him if his worst fears were true, to hold him back and demand an explanation and hope that the words would come out right this time. But he had waited, and held his breath, not knowing what he was waiting for, and the moment had passed. There wasn't anything he could say now to make that glint in Fuji's eyes disappear. Fuji's eyes reflected the phases of his mood, flashes of gold that appeared in an unfathomable blue when he was thrilled, darkening to indigo when his eyes were narrowed below shaded lashes when he was annoyed, and a blue as mad and unfathomable as the sky, when he was really, truly, absolutely _pissed. _

Tezuka sighed inwardly. He had hoped that they could at least be friends, despite his temporary lapse of sanity on that day in the locker room. Since that day, Fuji had been so angry that Tezuka didn't know how to approach him. He had tried starting conversations, an amazing feat in itself that Inui had noted down almost jealously, but Fuji hadn't given him a chance, cutting off all conversations almost before they even started. Although there were moments when Fuji smiled, he noticed that his smile never quite reached his eyes. 

He had made a vow to himself to ignore whatever had happened that day before, locking it away inside his mind. He had made a mistake, and he couldn't take back his actions, as much as he might hope to do so. 

"Ne, Tezuka, shall we warm up together?"

Fuji's rage was spiralling darker and deeper into himself; a never-ending abyss of rage seemed to consume the other whenever he even glanced in Tezuka's direction. He didn't know that Fuji would have gotten so angry over a single incident. He admitted it was wrong of him not to explain the matter to Fuji, but it wasn't as though Fuji had protested being kissed senseless. He remembered the moans that Fuji made in his mouth, and unconsciously his grip tightened around the racket. 

Enough was enough. He hadn't all the time in the world to pander to Fuji's whims and fancies.

* * *

"Zero-shiki serve!" 

He heard someone in the audience gasp when he employed that as his opening move. It was only a warming up match, but he had seen Fuji's expression and the only word that came to mind was _threat. _He didn't quite understand why his hand had gripped the racket that tightly or why unease had seized his body and demanded that he face his opponent with everything that he had. Evidently, it was the wrong move to make. Fuji's displeasure towards personal enemies was never obvious, no matter how angry the tensai was. But Tezuka recognised the same curious stillness that seemed to fall over their surroundings, a hush in their natural soundings that bled into his consciousness and made him painfully aware of an impending violence, as Fuji stood still in the middle of the court, his eyes unreadable against the sunlight.

The ball rushed past his face, the force of its impact colliding heavily against the ground. The rest of the regulars were shocked. It had missed Fuji by a couple of centimetres and he hadn't dodged, hadn't even blinked as he allowed it to go past him. It was the first time they had seen their captain so serious, and they were worried about Fuji's safety when it slowly became apparent that the tensai was in one of his unpredictable moods. 

Tezuka repeated his serve; a split second later, Fuji's return struck the corner of his court before it slamming against the fence with such force that it became lodged firmly in place. The regulars had fallen silent, and more of the tennis members were heading in their direction, curious about the growing crowd when there wasn't supposed to be an appointed match for the day. 

He was fascinated and enthralled by the idea of meeting Fuji head on for the first time in his life, their initial match ruined by the reckless tantrums of their seniors. It had been his dream for the longest time, to face Fuji Syuusuke. Fuji who had never stood across him on the court, Fuji of the Triple Counters, Fuji whose tennis was as graceful, playful and startling at the same time, Fuji who lay eternally in slumber, Fuji who gave everything to protect others and saw no point in protecting himself, Fuji who slid from his grasp like water, Fuji who defied all logic to return to him over and over again, and the Fuji who was bent on driving him into a corner, the same Fuji who hit each ball closer and closer to him, forcing him into an entrapped space, making twist his arm at unnatural angles in order to combat his shots. 

Fuji whose eyes were alive and pained and _beautiful_ - 

It was all the same person whom he had fallen in love with. 

Tezuka's vision darkened for a moment when the pain hit. Vaguely, he remembered the alarm of the other regulars as he collapsed, cradling his arm which shook uncontrollably in tortured spasms of pain, each bolt of crucifying pain running up his shoulder and forcing him to drop his racket. 

There were possibly many summers that lay ahead of this one. There would be more times when they would play matches again, he couldn't imagine a time where he wouldn't be able to face him and congratulate him on a match well played. The sky would be just as blue on the days to come. Just like today. He knew that there would be many, many days that lay ahead of them and the pain was wrenching but only temporary. 

He couldn't tell if droplets that fell, were from Fuji's tears or his own. His head was bowed and his hair had fallen across his eyes. He wanted to talk, he wanted to say his name before the regulars reached them; already he could hear the sound of footsteps coming in their direction. He wanted to take Fuji's hand, and stop it from curling so desperately around his racket, scraping so harshly against the rough flooring until red abrasions were starting to show. He wanted to turn the strength in those fingers away from his self-destructive tendencies, away from the blood that his nails were digging out of his skin, away from the recrimination that Fuji was starting to turn upon himself. 

It was alright, they had been caught in the moment, and he hadn't known, there was no need –

"I'm unforgivable."

Fuji was looking at him at last, and he found himself lost for words at the intensity of their loneliness. In him, the one whom Tezuka had seen and loved at last, inside the most delicately graceful person resided an unbearable loneliness, a sheer, fumbling awkwardness that didn't know what to do with itself, constructing of a façade that broke and repaired itself through sheer will, over and over again. 

"I'm unforgivable. _Unforgivable."_

"I - "

His reply was interrupted by the regulars who arrived at their side, hauling him up with difficulty and demanding that he take the rest of the week off, and have his arm inspected by the school nurse. He tried to tell them repeatedly that it wasn't anyone's fault that he had wanted to play the match, but the team was too beside themselves with worry to listen to him. His voice could barely be raised above a whisper as the pain tore through him again; ravaging his shoulder and making him stagger as he stood up abruptly. 

All the regulars had visited him in the school infirmary that day, even though the nurse had given him an anaesthetic which caused him to doze through the pain. When he asked, the rest of the team affirmed that Fuji had visited him, and sat beside him for the longest period of time. No one knew what Fuji had said to him, only that he had asked the rest to leave while he spoke to the captain alone. He couldn't remember what Fuji had said, nor what he had replied, but Fuji did look slightly better when he saw him the next day, reverting back to his usual self before he had gotten angry with Tezuka. However, he was still avoiding Tezuka, never overtly, but Tezuka noticed that the other always left with the others at the end of the day, when he had stayed back and accompanied him previously. He didn't wait for Tezuka outside his class to walk home together, nor did he accompany Tezuka in the school library to finish the weekly administrative affairs for the tennis club. He didn't go out of his way to be friends with Tezuka as he had in the past, and now that he stopped, Tezuka was at a complete loss. 

While he had been wrapped up in his affairs, he didn't notice the problems that began to brew inside the club.

He had been in the library working on his science report, typing out laborious page after page for the assignment that was due in two weeks. The next few weeks would be busy as the regulars would have to undergo training from hell in preparation for the regional matches which would be upon them in a month's time. Unaware of the passage of time since he had first sat down to begin his work, it was already half past six when he next looked at his watch. 

Rising from his seat, he wandered over to the library's window, taking in the sunset sky above the school. There were two figures standing near the school gate. Tezuka wouldn't have taken note of them in particular, if he hadn't noticed that they were carrying their racket bags with them. When he looked closer, he realised that Fuji and Takashi were going home together. From his viewpoint, he couldn't see Fuji's expression, only Takashi, who looked almost too happy to be walking beside him. His expression changed to something unrecognisable as they walked on, talking along the way. He would have dismissed his immediate notions as nothing but sheer jealousy that Fuji would not be as open around him, if not for Takashi who had abruptly stopped and pulled Fuji into a hug.

Tezuka loathed that moment when he had taken in such a sight. He hated discovering that Fuji did not belong to him exclusively, did not mind turning to another for help and comfort, a privilege which he withheld jealously from Tezuka. His instinctive reaction was to hate Takashi for taking away what was his, but when he thought it over obsessively for the next few days, he hated Fuji more for doing this to him. Sometimes he thought that he loved Fuji more desperately than he ever loved anything else in the world aside from tennis, sometimes he thought that he loved Fuji so much it felt as though he was drowning in his emotions, feelings that he had to conceal in case he pushed Fuji further away from him, and while he had waited, and contemplated, and waited further, Fuji had turned to Takashi and the latter was more than happy to welcome him into his arms.

"_It's been three years."_

Tezuka thought that if he couldn't be with Fuji, he didn't want to swallow his feelings and pretend to be friends with him instead. Consequently, he concentrated on tennis again, forcing himself to the limits of his endurance and focusing on helping his arm to recover. 

Then Fuji's relationship with Kikumaru had fractured, the bullying began and Tezuka continued to pretend that he had nothing to do with the entire affair. Fuji and Yuuta's relationship deteriorated sharply, and Tezuka hadn't even been aware of that until he had read his diary. He had learnt of how Yuuta's schoolmates heard the rumours concerning his homosexual brother and began provoking him until he lost his temper and wound up returning home covered in injuries. It wasn't so much that their family explicitly placed the blame on Fuji, but his parents fought over the issue on numerous occasions, and the already tense environment had escalated until no one was talking normally to each other anymore. It came at an especially bad time, when Yuuta had decided on his ambition to turn professional, despite their parents' protests that he wasn't, well, very good at tennis unlike his brother. Yuuta naturally blamed Fuji for it, and his temper had exploded when Fuji seen him being beaten up by a group of schoolmates and protected him. 

Fuji continued to seek out Tezuka, and he had turned away, and pretended that he hadn't heard any of his pleas. Fuji started cutting himself, leaving faint scars behind that only Tezuka noticed, and Tezuka had the satisfaction of telling him coldly that psychiatric help was always available and if he needed a suspension from the tennis club, Tezuka would be happy to grant it to him. Fuji had ceased, but he had never stopped smiling, almost to the extent that their juniors were terrified of him, and Takashi looked more and more strained with every passing day. 

He had sought out Tezuka and let him know that he had been giving Fuji advice and support in trying to mend his relationship with the captain. But he hadn't known that when it meant something to him, when all he could see and think about was Takashi following Fuji wherever he went, and letting Fuji hold his hand and hug him whenever he needed comfort. He promised that he would talk to Fuji at last, if only to ease the worries of his teammates, especially Takashi and Oishi who worried the most about Fuji's rapid deterioration. Fuji fell further into depression every day, and even tennis was not enough to hold his attention. The previously undefeated Fuji Syuusuke was defeated in rapid succession by the other team members, until Ryuuzaki-sensei had called Fuji up to speak with her, threatening him with an expulsion from tennis. On that day, Tezuka had overheard and interceded on his account, making her promise to keep him in the team, before grabbing Fuji by the wrist and dragging him outside.

* * *

Tezuka sighed inwardly as he stood at the familiar rooftop and looked at the darkening scenery beyond the school.

There were too many memories in Seigaku which had followed him even after he left for Germany. It had also been late evening when Tezuka had agreed to meet him, promised to talk if that was all he wanted. At that point in time, he had been too tired to consider anything further, but he could promise at least that much. Although it was ironic that Fuji had fought for so long, for a chance just to talk things through with him, when he had vanished before they even had a chance to say what was on their minds. 

"_Sometimes I turn, and I hear aniki crying."_

"_Sometimes I wonder if Fuji cannot leave, because he has something left unfinished?"_

Come to think of it, it was exactly 5 years ago since that day when he had disappeared on November 13. If he closed his eyes and thought back of that day, so many years ago, it felt as though nothing had changed at all. He loved Fuji then, and loved Fuji even now, even though he was too late to apologise for everything which he had done. Sometimes, when things appeared to be too complicated, he forgot to take a step backwards, never realising that the complication was all inside his mind. 

"_Ne, Tezuka, shall we meet there tomorrow at 9 then?" _

He could almost hear the gentle lilt of Fuji's voice as he turned to the same direction which Fuji had been facing.

From far away, the Tokyo Tower was beckoning.

* * *

END CHAPTER


	8. Night of Creation

The entire place was flooded with the usual tourists and the locals that stayed and opened tourist attraction shops within the town that was housed at the foot of the tower. Everything was lit in orange and gold, and he moved valiantly through the people, fighting to catch a glimpse of a familiar coat, or even the rare blue eyes that would have glowed like stars when he saw something beautiful, his fingers curled instinctively around his camera. People were desperately looking for souvenirs even at that hour, people were milling around him in all directions, but the one he sought was nowhere in sight.

In the air, there was a quietness that he didn't like, but welcomed nonetheless.

Absently, he noted that it was often the same stillness that came before a sudden storm, and abruptly, he raised his eyes to meet a familiar pair of blue eyes that were watching him from a distance. They were separated by a street and the countless people that passed between them, but his hopes rose sharply. It was the corner of the mouth that quirked in a smile, the hand that slipped inside the pocket of his coat, but most of all, it was his eyes which captured him, the eyes which were held a blue as the sky and as infinite.

It was beginning to rain.

When he was in Germany, he had lain awake for many nights, until one day he had gone to sleep, and awoke to find himself in an almost ethereal mood, the remnants of a warm voice and an even warmer presence gradually fading from his arms. Ever since that time, he had left a radio, or even his television set on throughout the night, attempting to recreate the same night where the voices had bubbled out of his consciousness, passing by him and leaving him with the same sense of stillness, a quietude where fate balanced upon a hair's end and waited to fall in either direction.

He remembered Fuji's smile, eclipsed for so long, and brought out into the sun at last, the familiar creasing of his eyes and warm lips touched into a genuine smile.

It felt a little like drowning.

_I have fought against it for all my life, and now that I am free, I would rather belong to you again. _

_I love you._

There was no one waiting on the other side of the street.

It was an insane idea. A fanciful notion which had taken hold of him and refused to backdown. He should have known that it was imposible for Fuji to appear again and he was insane to hope otherwise. There was simply no way that someone - _anyone _- would reappear after all these years. The nights in Tokyo, ablaze with lights which made one think it was still day after all – were the loneliest that one could ever experience. When it rained, there was a dichotomy of pain and release, and when it _poured, _the tower was still there, burning like the sun in all its honey-hued splendour and promising to take the darkness away from you. All lies. Nothing but lies to make one believe in the fairytale image of Tokyo and overlook the drenched streets, the twisted barbs that lay in people's hearts, and even the desolation that arose, because even _that _was beautiful.

Tezuka blinked against the rain, before realising that a pair of arms circled his waist, and a familiar warmth was pressed against him.

He wasn't crying – it was raining, after all.

It was only the rain that obscured his sight and made it impossible to see anything in that moment.

* * *

END STORY

A/N: I actually wrote several paragraphs of angsty reflections before this, as well as an ending where Fuji didn't come back at all. However, it made me feel really bad for everyone, so I figured that 7 chapters of unhappiness was enough, and people deserved a good ending from time to time.

Now, onto something lame! If anyone is wondering why I chose the Tokyo Tower, it's because you can see Mt Fuji from there. XD


End file.
